Empathy shouldn't lead to stress

I discovered a blog per chance recently, written by an intelligent, clear-headed American male who is sexually dominant. He calls it BDSM: Things You Need to Know and over the past couple of weeks reading there I have enjoyed it immensely. Unfortunately, he hasn't updated the blog in the past several months, although he does respond still to the odd comment left for him. I'm hoping he'll come back to writing there because it is most insightful reading.

In response to one of his posts a commenter made the point that she experienced anxiety when her dom was "upset" and Will responded to it as follows:

'Hi Jennifer, your anxious response to his "upset" state of mind could be due to your natural empathy, or previous experience (in childhood or adulthood) of someone close to you not dealing well with their own burdens, or an unrealistic sense of duty towards your partner. Asking yourself "what is the origin of this anxiety; what do I fear might happen" whenever it occurs might help you get clarity on that.

How he feels and behaves is of course his responsibility, and although you can lift him by your devotion, you cannot shift that obligation from him. Empathy is beneficial in that it gives you insight into his feelings without him having to describe them. But not to the point of stress on your part — you need to remain at peace in order to be completely present for both of you. As for latent fears you might have, see Assuaging a Sub's Fear of Abandonment.'

Will's comments resonated with me for a couple of reasons. First of all, I can most certainly experience an anxious response to an authority figure being upset. Whether it was a boss from the past, or my husband or my mentor, I've been anxious when I have displeased any one of them.

Will responded to Jennifer that her feelings of upset could be her natural empathy and this is certainly the case with me. I can very easily put myself in the shoes of another person and feel their anger, or their pain, or their distress or their 'upset'. I absorb this upset and it becomes my own distress. This came up in the therapy I had a few years ago, my tendency to hold onto someones distress, and I was encouraged to give back that upset to the person who owned it. It wasn't mine to take, she said. Yet, it's one thing to say something like that and another thing to make such a huge change in one's thinking. I remain profoundly empathic.

Will also suggests that Jennifer may feel an unrealistic sense of duty towards her partner and I do that too. When I feel bound to someone in some way my sense of duty towards them, to make them happy, and happy with me, is notable. It is something of a crusade for me, to see it as my responsibility to keep the peace and to be pleasing. To not be pleasing to such a person is to fill me up with an uncomfortable level of guilt. I'm really quite eager to take the blame and to analyze how I may have done wrong, regardless of their own personality traits that may make it difficult to always be pleasing in the first place. I tend to nearly always feel that I could have done better and to see it as my responsibility to please.

The really huge statement that Will made in my opinion is that empathy is useful, but not to the point of causing distress, because it works best if a submissive is at peace and present for both of them. As someone who has traversed the road seeking consistent peace of mind it made complete sense that my anxiety was in fact a lose:lose situation. My goal going forward was clear: to limit or even eliminate anxiety in terms of taking on other's people's distress and calling it my own.

When you've lived with someone for decades, known them since they entered University, you get to understand that people are fundamentally 'cooked' at any early age. Yes, people can change if they are motivated to do so, but a great deal doesn't change. My husband, for example, needs to express his distress and he usually needs to express it to me. This has been a constant for over 35 years.  In general, once he has blown off enough steam, he gets over what it was that distressed him, but in the meantime I am in a position where I must listen to the distress, acknowledge it, sometimes over and over, but not allow it to lodge inside my body or my mind. So, I demonstrate my usual levels of empathy, hold onto any opinions that wouldn't be helpful in such a situation, and I endeavor to distance myself from the anxiety such that I don't own it or accept it as my own anxiety. This is the theory, not always obtainable in practice usually because I am pushed to my elastic limit over time.

In terms of a power exchange dynamic things don't always go perfectly in spite of the best laid plans. In the rush towards Christmas, for example, I didn't take the time to fully understand a directive and I did it wrong. This was very far from my intention and no-one could have been harder on me than I was on myself. We're all human, doms and subs alike, and disappointment can tend to sit like an unwelcome visitor, making everyone uncomfortable.

Will asks Jennifer to consider what is the origin of her anxiety. I asked a similar question of myself and find it very hard to answer. I think my anxiety stems from finding myself in a situation where I have displeased and not being sure what to do about it. I think it is the uncertainty that is so anxiety-ridden for me, because if I was told to repeat the exercise properly, I'd do it and the anxiety would simply melt away. It's the 'I'm not sure what you want me to do now' feeling that makes for such anxiety, almost as if holding me in an anxious state is the punishment and the way I am meant to learn. Certainly an anxiety-ridden state means that I'll do everything humanly possible to avoid landing myself in that state again, but it also means I'm operating on the basis of fear, and I'm not sure this is a good thing, for me or for anybody. Whether fear is intended is something it is impossible for me to judge, but I know I do feel fear, fear of having displeased and what that means to my inner landscape.

Even as I felt uncomfortable about it, quite foolish for making such a silly mistake, I was trying hard to not absorb the negative feelings. It was my mistake, absolutely, but it was just that, a mistake. Should I allow the mistake or the negative vibes I felt were coming my way to interfere with my effectiveness such that other people would be disappointed in my performance, or that my state of mind would be compromised such that I didn't enjoy Christmas?

It was in these moments of conscious decision making about my response to the unhappy situation  that I decided it was time that I recognize that my empathy could not be allowed to spill over into distress. The mistake had happened in spite of my best intentions. I'd made my apology, was not in a position to rectify the situation to satisfy immediately and thus must recognize that there was no value in going over it in my mind, in distressing myself. I was choosing not be distressed.

Maybe this doesn't sound like a big deal. For people without a particularly empathic soul I don't think it is a big deal. However, for a deeply empathic soul, one who gets off and finds peace in being pleasing, it's huge. The message I have taken from Will's blog, one of the many messages there, is that a submissive's job is to be present. The dominant may say something out of turn (dominants tend to be full of themselves, let's face it, and hence blurt out something that is upsetting to hear), but it's helpful if this doesn't trigger a submissive too often, that's she resilient and cognisant of the fact that his distress isn't hers; that being submissive doesn't extend to owning and wearing his emotions.

In the same way, Will (and I'm still thinking about this) doesn't wear his submissive's emotions and makes the point that to get too involved in her emotions is to make it difficult to control her. In essence, the message is that we are both responsible for owning and controlling our own emotions; very grown up stuff indeed.

Happy Festive Season

After a hectic year it should have been no surprise to me that the Festive Season was similarly non-stop action.

I'm very fortunate to have my husband and all my children with me on Christmas Day this year.

With luck, December 25th signals the beginning of a period of time of calm, rest and relaxation for us where we can settle in a spot for awhile and simply enjoy life at a much slower pace. This period of time often also allows for play and that is always a good thing.

My very best wishes to you for a happy and safe Festive Season.

Feeling inconvenient

 I have been reading Gretchen Rubin's blog recently, the blogger famous for her 'Happiness Project' and I took note when she wrote that often she does something just for herself, just to please herself. If her husband happens not to note something she has done (for example, lose some weight) she tells herself that it doesn't matter too much because she can do some things for herself, to please herself.

I've been thinking about this concept and trying to apply it to my day too. Even if my efforts are sometimes not noticed, or at least not acknowledged, I remind myself that I did that thing not to just be pleasing but because I wanted to do it as well.

I've been applying this thought to being supervised in my goals. I asked for help in losing weight, which in some respects takes the onus off me and onto the person supervising me. I must say I have found it invaluable to be supervised and I don't think I could have make the changes I have been making without this supervision. There were just too many loopholes in my thinking.

But, does this come at a price to him? This is what I have been wondering. No-one feels dominant or likes dominating all of the time and especially in the run-up to Christmas when there are so many get-togethers and so much work to be done before the end of the year. Wouldn't it be a drag for him to be given one more responsibility, to have any aberrance on my part needing to be dealt with as well as all his other responsibilities?

I've been very fortunate to have a good number of get togethers with friends during this holiday season and temptation is often put in my way. On the whole, my friends don't order dessert so I'm lucky there to not feel left out, but there are occasions when we might order one dessert amongst us (well, I don't order it but someone else does) and it might be divided up amongst the four of us, or it might be divided up amongst the seven of us, like the piece of lemon tart that sat in front of my birthday celebrating friend, who happened to be sitting next to me at lunch yesterday.

If I had had no sweets this week, or even one sweet, I could have safely had a bite of the lemon tart, but unhappily, I had already eaten the two points of my weekly sweets allowance. Normally, I could leave it. It's a touch of fear and potential guilt that keeps me honest usually, but my defences were down yesterday. I was tired (all that girlie talking can exhaust me) and I had half a glass of champagne and a full glass of wine over lunch which makes me all the more tired and wanting a bit of sugar to wake me up. I picked up a spoon and scooped out a small piece of the tart and put it in my mouth to have with the black coffee. Yum!

Later, when I went to write up my daily food journal I really laboured over whether to report the sin. Perhaps I should take responsibility for the aberrant behaviour myself and not bother him with it? Did he really need the headache of having to deal with me amongst all the other things he needed to do at this time? In the end, honesty prevailed. I think my overwhelming and overarching thought was that this wasn't my decision to make; just report it like it was and let him decide.

As a woman with a submissive personality I remain aware that a dominant person can't possibly always desire to dominate; that he must get sick of the role at times; that he must wish that she simply did as told; left him free to deal with other matters. How much room has any one person got in their lives to take responsibility for another person's behaviour on top of their own?

I admit there is no feeling that I deplore more than that I might be an inconvenience to someone. David and I both shared this feeling to some extent, that horrible thought that we might be inconvenient to someone else. He started it one day when he said 'I'll go sit over in the corner and wait in the dark' and we often repeated the joke when we shared this feeling that we both sometimes had, that we were being a bit of a burden to someone else, or that we felt a little forgotten. (We were all too aware too that like a good Jewish mother, as the theory goes, we were making note of our feelings out loud!)

One of the difficulties with a long distance relationship of any kind is that one is tempted to predict how the other is feeling, whether he might need a rest from the dominance. These thoughts spring to mind from time to time as one assesses how things are going. I do realize that these concerns do spring forth from this fear of being an inconvenience and as a submissive this thought can be quite disquieting. Or, perhaps it is another case of assumptions making an 'ass out of you and me'.

Bodily sensation

In the absence of adequate stimulation being applied to my body, I apply it myself. I did so just now. It occurred to me about an hour ago that I'd like to push into my ass the plug that I refer to as Mr Bom. Everything about this process is a ritual that transforms my thinking brain to the parred down  space to which I am addicted.

I gather the plug, lube, baby wipes and a towel. I undress, lay down on my side and lube the plug with care. I bring him to the hole and whilst I very slowly ease him in, I close my eyes. It's a very meditative, no-thought sort of time when I am only aware of the sensations I am creating. At his thickist part I must endure, riding over that sensation of being stretched to the max and then giving one big final push inwards to enable him home.

I am instantly immobilized; self bondage. For up to a minute I cannot move, think, speak or even take in my surroundings. I am absorbed in the sensations which I assume are not dissimilar to taking cocaine. It's a trip and one I repeat routinely. Yes, I am an addict.

A few minutes later, my whole body responds sexually. I am completely aroused and the urge to touch myself is overwhelming. Images flood my brain. I am contained in various ways, tied up, humiliated and beaten. I'm reminded of my status, my position and place. I was born, and shall remain all my life, a submissive girl, I am told. I am to do as I'm told and be punished if I disobey.

My body is marked with implements to remove me of my ego and 'tags' are pierced into my body as permanent pieces of jewellery. These 'tags' are symbols of my high status. I am owned! I'm trained for my body to be thought of as an object that is owned. When I'm told to kneel my mouth cunt opens automatically to satisfy its true purpose. I radiate joy as I provide joy.

This is how I am loved, how I love and how I live. In these day dreams, I am blissfully me. Is it little wonder I love Mr Bom very much.

Secretary, revisited

My husband and I were sitting on the couch last night, me draped over his body as he allows me to do, when the movie Secretary came on. Since we knew the story very well it allowed for a different kind of viewing this time and my husband mentioned several times how extraordinarily well Spader and Gyllenhaul play out the dynamic, whilst I made mention of what a great screen play it is. Every scene drives the story onward and reveals more about what the characters want and what holds them back.

There are countless examples of the way the dynamic works for both of them but what jumps to my mind first is the scene encompassing the telephone answering lesson and the way Spader leads up to the difficult conversation topic of Miss Halloway's habit of cutting herself when under anxiety. Her first walk home after work after being given permission to breathe in fresh air with the full knowledge that she will 'never again' cut herself, exemplifies all that is great in the dynamic between a dominant and a submissive - the positive effect the dominant can have over his submissive's life.

For a time Miss Halloway only wants to please. Her typing mistakes are just that, until he stops playing with her and then she is more manipulative. She's so keen to feel his control and to be 'punished' that she lets the odd mistake go, in the full knowledge that he'll notice. Goodness. I would never do such a thing!

I admit I respond viscerally to the masturbation scenes since I know that it is critical to have in my mind thoughts that arouse, such as being given an instruction and knowing that however odd it might be, I am going to obey. She was told to eat four peas and so she did, and what a huge turn on that was for her. Only a truly submissive mind can understand how we really live for these moments of tight control and how they elevate us to a new dimension of life.

When such a dynamic is well in place disobedience is really something of a nightmare for both parties. To have an instruction refused must be deeply unsettling for the dominant, but I think it is important to understand that even whilst a submissive is creating havoc with her ministrations that she can't or won't do a task, she's suffering as well. It goes against every bone in the body to refuse to comply with an order and speaks to a very unsettled state of mind. It seems right to insist on obedience, the fastest way probably to restore good order,  but at the same time the decision to not comply needs to be more than noted. What led her to speak the unspeakable?

In Secretary there was no spanking, no telling off, that could interfere with the deep connection they had formed. She thrived on his control and suffered when he withdrew it. He doubted that they could do 'this' 24 hours a day but her only response to that was 'why not?' And, why not indeed? Together, they demonstrated what it is to love and live in their own way. It made us both smile. It reminded my husband that what I want is really very tender, sweet and most heartfelt.

A glimmer of insight through the fog

When I can achieve that 'doll' frame of mind, it is really a wonderfully simple inner life. The news of the day starts to fade in its importance. I often float through the day oblivious to the outside world; not so much 'in my head' as without much news worthy, noteworthy thought.

Naturally, the doll frame of mind comes and goes. I do have to attend to worldly issues and it occurred to me that I best get in touch with someone at my academic institution to ask when class starts for my last subject in the MA. A senior tutor replied to my inquiry and took the opportunity to remind me that she'd like to receive a story for the Institution's magazine. How do I to tell her that I have been in 'doll mode' for the past few months and have not written a thing, except one unsuitably smutty story? Hmmmmmmmm

It was time to get back to putting words down on the blank page. Without a clear idea of where I was going I had a go but was soon distracted onto other sites (e.g. tumblr). I deleted the page and settled down for the night. Would my head ever focus again?

Through the doll haze, for several weeks now, even a short story has seemed such a huge ask. When I read I normally have a pencil at the ready to mark what I particularly love, and a note book to write down thoughts that come to me as I read, to explore in story form sometime later.

Nothing. I've done nothing that I know works for me, except to one day have this inkling, this sense that Richard Flanagan's various points of view that he uses in The Narrow Road to the Deep South - to shift from the mindset of an Australin prisoner in Burma during WW11 to the Japanese Colonel's perspective, from Dorrigo's inner landscape to that of his wife, or his lover - gave the story a richness that I wanted to explore in my own writing (although I wouldn't attempt anything as challenging). I told myself that inklings are worth something. 

I've been watching for free lectures from the Iowa Writers' Workshop and felt compelled to send for Andrew Sean Greer's The Story of a Marriage. His talk affected me in some indiscernible way and I wanted to read his latest story. With a glass of white wine in one hand and his little book in the other, some vague reminder of the writer's life returned to me. More than that, the uncomplicated nature of the sentences gave me hope that it wasn't necessary to write particularly poetically to tell a story well. There's not a metaphor to be had in the following paragraph, save the first sentence, and yet it has us thinking, draws us in.

Beauty is a warping lens. He had the kind of looks that are always greeted by grins and handshakes, extra glances, stares held for a moment longer than usual; a smile and a face not easily forgotten. Even the way he held a cigarette, or leaned over to tie his shoe, had a certain masculine grace that made you want to sketch him. What a distorted, confusing way to live. To be offered jobs and rides and free drinks - "It's on the house, sweetie" - to sense a room changing as you move through it. Watched everywhere you go. To be someone people long to possess, and to be used to this feeling; to be wanted so immediately, so often, that you have never known yourself what you might want.

Thirty something pages later we learn that Holland was once the lover of Buzz, the 'friend' who has come calling regularly and befriended Pearlie. Holland wants him back and is prepared to broker a deal with Pearlie.

After Flanagan's ambitious tale of the lives of the men who helped with the building of the Burma Railway under sufferage this is a deceptively simple story of a marriage. I was instantly pulled into it.  I found myself interested in the construction of single sentences, in putting myself in the author's seat and imagining how Greer orchestrated the tale. I was starting to think like a writer again.

Responses to the novel have been mixed. Some readers adore the book while others have complaints about being deceived (by omission) for a time that Pearlie and Holland are black. It occurred to me what a long and hard road it is to write fiction. One reviewer even said of Flanagan's brilliant saga that a 'red camelia' occurring a few times during the book was a 'literary devise' that she found too co-incidental. My goodness, but we are picky!

Of course, Hemingway had this idea that we must write only what is 'true'. Jim Carrey spoke to a room full of creative arts students in recent times and told them that the creative and performing arts industry was the last place on earth where they could write and act out what is 'true'.

'What's your truth?' I often ask myself, and particularly as recently as this weekend when I read a long post by another tutor of mine who called for stories for a new world; the kind of stories that poeple are searching for now to help them live their lives better.

If, for me, the correct answer to that calling is to write stories about finding connection, my characters must first experience disconnection, alienation and confusion. Dorrrigo (based in part on Weary Dunlop) never does find the sort of connection he seeks, except in times of crisis. He's a man that needs a crisis before he can 'step up'. Holland, for all his beauty in action, as typified in the above paragraph, is deeply disconnected. Gay and living in the 1950s in America, a quiet marriage to Pearlie is a good place to hide, but not one that allows him to feel much of  a connection to her or anyone else.

I spent far too long talking this morning to a friend after my exercise class. She puts on a brave front but she's had considerable concerns to bear over her life. I've often wondered at how she hasn't journeyed into the land of despair, rather than remain forever forbearing. Finally, she wanted to share with someone that her step-daughter has competed with her for her father's attentions for the past 32 years and that she hates her. I hope my shock at her use of the word wasn't visible.

It finally sunk in. It's not just me that's complicated. We're all complicated, all flawed. This is why the character arc is so essential because innately we know this about the human race and stories need for central characters to learn something so that we can learn something; so that we have an opportunity to be better than we are.

Yes, Dorrigo let his opportunity to find that connection in his life pass through his fingers, but we say to ourselves, don't we, that we must never do that ourselves; that we won't make that mistake?

I've written down these thoughts as they have come to me so that I can return to them, before they fade away. In doll mode, thoughts do come sometimes, and then they very quickly fade away...

When three is not a crowd

My sexuality is expressed through thoughts of having someone control me. Thus, I'm aroused by the thoughts of my partner being direct about what he wants.

'Take your clothes off.'
'Come here.'
'No, you don't need a second coffee.'
'I'd like you to have your breasts pierced and I've arranged an appointment for tomorrow.'
'Bend over the bench. It is time for your inspection.'

All these sorts of words, whether in reality, in a story or in my imagination, arouse me. I am not comfortable having much wiggle room nor am I naturally inclined to ask or initiate situations in general, though I continue to try to modify this instinct to allow for more assertiveness.

This morning my mind stretched over other landscapes. What if he were to say this:

'I have arranged for us to play with another girl and I'd like you to dominate her. I'd like you to hurt her. She has given her consent to this and it would thrill me for you to do this.'

I've already vaguely sketched out in my mind something like this scenario because I am such an afficionado of films like 'Story of O' where the man's love interest is asked to carry out sadistic behaviours towards another girl.

I honestly don't think there is the vaguest sadistic streak within me, but if asked to do this in a no nonsense way, it seems almost impossible that I would refuse. She has given her consent to the experience, it would make the man I love thrilled, and (wait for it) I kinda like the way an implement feels in my hand. I've whacked myself with a few implements and found it something I could do without difficulty, so it makes sense that I could bring a paddle or a whip down on a girl's backside, if told to do so, and not be distressed about it.

As a submissive, one is familiar with the sting or thud of implements. Sure, it hurts, but the experience can also be very profound, cathartic, joyful, enriching and satisfying. Knowing that those cries of panic and distress can be transformed into something deeply arousing and fulfilling could well make the dominant experience something that wouldn't be at all arduous to perform.

Honestly, I've never allowed my mind to focus on giving rather than receiving pain in this way ever before, at least not in my conscious mind, but it is has to be said, under the right circumstances, it could be deeply rewarding for all participants.

To watch someone 'fly' must be a real trip. I saw this happen once in a documentary, where this older woman had a girl on a fucking machine who was spaced out on the most profound orgasms. Over the older woman's face was an expression of such elation that she had enabled the joy and release. I paid particular attention to that and found it to be both erotic and tender.

What I continue to feel is that I don't have the personality to insist on outcomes, to demand my way or to exert my force on another person. If they said, 'No more', I'd say, 'Okay, I'm sorry, are you ok, sweetie?' rather than, 'Oh that's too bad because I'm not finished yet.' There's no way it would be a good idea to leave me in the room on my own because I'd botch the experience, but if the sadistically/dominant oriented man was with me, yes, I could do his bidding in this way. I know I could.

Being my best

It made me smile to read the article Beware of These 10 Habit Loopholes as You Head to the Thanksgiving Feast because this is a big part of what my mentoring relationship is about, holding my feet to the fire, ensuring that I stick with my goals and not make silly excuses.

In essence,  a good eating plan will enable you lose weight quite easily. It's almost painless to lose weight so long as you make healthy choices and avoid all the empty calories such as cake and chocolate. It's not a fast way to lose weight, for me, but it is an effective and healthy way to lose weight without much pain.

Of course, we all enjoy our little indulgences and there are so many reasons we give ourselves to indulge. 'Tomorrow I'll be good', or 'But, it's a gluten free cookie'. Number 4 in the article, the 'lack of control' loophole made me wince because I used that excuse recently to no good effect. I received absolutely no sympathy whatsoever and the repercussions made it clear that it would be unwise to ever use it again. He works on the model that in this matter he has to be cruel to be kind, and over time, I came to see that he was right. I was using a bunch of loopholes in my thinking to justify my poor choices which kept me unable to lose the 4 kilos I wanted to lose.

When I stand on the scales and see the number slowly reducing over time, I am reminded that my thought processes have gradually adjusted to take account of good choices he insists I make. I haven't managed to get through a week without using up my sweets allowance (meagre as it is) but I have managed to stay within the allowance and that is a good thing.

Our habits do tend to define us. We drink a soda perhaps and think nothing of it. Yet, the evidence is in that being a soda drinker is as dangerous to one's health as being a smoker. Coca Cola won't tell you this and nor will the supermarkets who sell it to you. It's absolutely frightening how huge the sale of soft drinks is in Australia and I would take a guess it is worse in the United States. Unless we stop and think about what we do we are just pawns in their game. Soft drink is like drinking poison. It will take years off your life expectancy.

The mentoring process over the past few months has been a huge wake up call for me as I begin to see how mentoring, or shall we call it 'the dominant taking a stand to assist the submissive with her goals plan' can be incredibly effective. Not only can this relationship be applied to healthy food choices but could in effect be used to assist her (or him) with just about any other goal.

I rarely get to bed on time and thus often don't get enough sleep, and I can't seem to establish an effective daily writing plan which really irks me and holds me back from achieving my goals. I begin to see how profound it would be in my life to have someone devise rules for me to which I must abide. I've tended to think of myself as a relatively/reasonably disciplined person and yet I am beginning to see that there is a great deal of untapped potential in my day(s). I've considered much of my submissive mindset from an erotic perspective, but if I am honest I have to admit that I would respond to dominance in many other ways as well.

My mentor is strict but he knows he has to be strict, with me at least. I've been grumpy at times with the lengths to which he will go to ensure my co-operation but I have come to see that he has been altering my patterns, using his control to shift my thinking to a more effective path. It hasn't been easy to admit that I need some assistance with my daily life but it is crystal clear that I do well with a boss, and a strict boss at that.

Garnering more control

A few nights ago there was some lovemaking and afterwards I just could not contain my frustration. I wasn't rude but I was fairly blunt; that without feeling his control life didn't have the same positive element for me.

At first, he was a bit upset by my comments but we agreed to sleep on it and in the morning, in his arms, I explained my point of view in more detail. It's the first talk I can remember having where we were really entirely honest and open with each other, or at least the best talk. If there was one thing I said that really resonated for him it was this:

'We were both born equal. We are both well educated. When we are dealing with the outside world, we're equals. But, my nature isn't your nature. I want to be controlled. That's what makes me happy and what feels right. Think of it as a role. That's my erotic role. You want to control. You know you do. You want to influence politics, the government, business - really everybody you come across in your world to some degree. That's the way your desire for control of your world is expressed. But, you aren't eroticizing your need for control. You aren't controlling me in the ways I'd like and need, that I crave.'

I could see him really listening to that.

'I get that', he said, 'but you can try to invoke the 'get out of jail card with me' when you're due for some discipline. If you want to feel control you have to stop doing that.'

'Agreed,' I said. 'I hand over control to you. What you say, goes.'

Seconds later, I found myself in a wonderfully vulnerable situation, totally immersed in a scene where I was at his mercy, treated like a fucktoy. It's too special to post the details but it ended with him scrubbing me in the shower, not at all gently, and me adoring every heavenly moment of it. Off we went to a birthday lunch at a winery and he said I looked beautiful, that I glowed. I do look different when I'm erotically dominated. I just do.

It's up to me now to seek to maintain that momentum, to let go and just follow, in every way. Interestingly, I have been aware of his changing moods since then. It was obvious he was deeply aroused and happy to be controlling me and to hear and see my response to the control, but his need to control his world will remain. It's a big part of who he is and how he lives his life and it's important that I find a way to continue to be a part of his world and to feel some control from him without disrupting him. The control of me needs to sit comfortably amongst his desire to control his entire landscape.

Of course, this is what the mentoring has been about, particularly of more recent times. If I disobey or choose to make a mistake I've forgotten my place. My place is to follow along. My place is to be controlled. My place is to be enticing, slutti; ready for use. My place is to follow the rules established for my own good.

This is an all encompassing role. It's not just about sex. My husband, for example, bought me a box of Haigh's chocolate truffles but told me that I must gain his permission before I eat one. They sit unopened on the shelf.

'Are there any truffles left?' he asked several nights ago.

This is where we were at. He'd give a directive but if I disobeyed there would not really be a consequence. This doesn't work for me. It defeats the sense of control. I really do need to know that what he says, he means.

It's hard, he has said, to be 'Johnny on the spot'. He means, he has to live with me and within a family environment and exercising the amount of control I am asking for has seemed too hard under the circumstances. But, circumstances from now on are allowing for time alone and that's a big part of what has been the missing ingredient.

If I can't eat a chocolate without permission, then I can't eat a chocolate without permission, and if cake is banned, well, cake is banned. I was the one who asked for help losing weight after all. Anyway, I'd rather experience control than eat cake or chocolate. Put that way, the decision is easy.

I am what I am

It occurs to me that my circumstances bear a close resemblance to the person who comes to realize that he or she is gay.  I remember distinctly a gay friend saying to me, 'I didn't choose to be gay. Life would have been easier if I was straight, but I'm not. I am what I am.'

I didn't choose to be kinky and life would have been a lot easier if I was not kinky. If I had embraced my kinkiness by my late 20s I would have known to marry a kinky man. But, I hadn't embraced my kinkiness. I knew I was different, but I didn't know that I had any options. I didn't know there were other kinky people in the world and in any case I was doing everything I knew to hide my thoughts and desires, assuming they were detestable, unwanted and laughable.

It hasn't been easy for my husband, who is straight by nature, to face my relevations. He does what he can for me but it doesn't come naturally to him. He didn't seek a kinky wife. He took me at my word, how I presented myself to him, and that included being an independent woman and someone who could take care of herself.

If he had known that my heart and soul desires to submit to a man and be his 'property' and that this involves a certain amount of work and responsibility of the 'owner', would he have married me? I doubt he would have married me because it would have been very confronting and not something that made any sense to him at all. Over the years I have many times overheard him say to someone that the marriage works well because he has his interests and I have mine and we don't get in each other's way. This is what he wants, to be free to pursue his life at his own pace, such that his perfectionist personality may roam free.

I think it is worth saying that I take no issue with the long hours he wishes to work on two provisos. I want to enjoy some time with him. This really is up to me and he has always considered me to be "the social secretary", so if I'll arrange it he'll do it, generally. I understand the mechanics of this and that getting some fun into life is my responsibility.

The second proviso is that I need to experience dominance. I need to have my body 'used' and I mean that. I need to feel the physical dominance of my body. I don't know why I need this. I only know that I feel very tense and upset when this does not happen.

I seek to feel a man's desire for this outcome and to lovingly dominate me across the board - how I speak, what I achieve, what exercise I do, what I eat. I'd love to have him take an interest in these matters as part of the concept that I am his property, because in this way the whole of my life would provide opportunities to feel the (sensible) control that I crave. I do recognize, however, that this is asking for the moon given the circumstances of my life and that I must accept responsibility for these aspects of my life. For example, he's been encouraging me to get back to my writing and to establish a daily focus there, but I've been floundering around with it fairly aimlessly for the past several weeks without establishing workable routines. I know I am someone who can require  deadlines, expectations of outcomes, rules!

Since we will have more scope now to be alone and hopefully to enjoy one anothers company, there's a chance that we can rekindle the great times we had a few years ago when he seemed pretty comfortable with embracing my kinky nature into our lives in a relatively all embracing way. What has confused me is that he was so accommodating then, whereas now he seems quite removed most of the time. Perhaps 'burn out' and preoccupations are really the issue. He certainly says that it is not to do with me and that I shouldn't take it personally. Hard to do, alas.

I can keep trying to work the situation but so far there is little advance. I gave him Different Loving to read and underlined the key sentences so that he didn't need to spend too much time getting to the key factors of the relationship that I'd love him to consider, but that was months ago and he never opened it. I send him emails giving him ideas and topics to open discussion. I gave him the link to my tumblr which explains what I want through words and images. He reads there, noted to me that I am more direct in what I write there now, but still I see virtually no forward momentum on his part.

The strategies I use - the physical things I do to myself, and my rules that were devised for me, along with the rules I devised for myself - are my way of coping with my life situation. To have them removed for a two week period of time has taken me to the brink. This punishment has been so severe that it has left me with no way to cope. Intellectually, I know that the time period is almost expired, but psychologically, right now, I am fragile. The toy inside me feels frightened and confused.

Yet, I know now like I never knew ever before that I need the dominance, the rules and the rituals. They are like batteries for my soul and my mood and without those batteries I'm not functioning too well. I feel lost in limbo, aware that the vanilla world is not for me but unsure of my place in this other world now. Of one thing I am sure. I am what I am.

Bimbo vacation

Rules are rules and cindi broke a rule. Or, to be more exact she did something as if she was entitled. This isn't tolerated. It's sloppy, muddle-headed thinking and it needs to be corrected. Or, to put it another way, cindi needs to be punished. Isn't that the really authentic way of putting it? Why wrap it up in pretty paper and call it a 'correction' when it is severe discipline designed to transform the bimbo's state of mind? No props for a considerable length of time. No opportunity for her mood to be elevated in ways with which she is so familiar. No limits. No rules. Reign the hutzpah in.

She was sitting there yesterday feeling sad sack miserable, as she was meant to do, when she realized that she still had her paws. Those bimbo paws could still be manicured, even on 'vacation'. Bimbo did indeed have a way of picking herself up off the floor. This thought energized her immediately.

At the new salon, where she has only been a few times, the man took her paws in his hands and in the best English he could muster he told her her paws were beautiful. 'Beautiful nails', he said. He pointed to the woman at the far end of the room, as if to ask if she did them. 'Yes, they were a new set two weeks ago. She did a great job.' 'No cut, right?' he said and cindi immediately agreed that she didn't want them cut. Even his filing was very light, she noticed.

The woman came to watch for a time. 'Beautiful nails,' she said to the bimbo. 'You very careful. Beautiful'. She beckoned cindi to change chairs where she applied the polish and once she had put on the top layer she produced a card and put it in cindi's bag. 'You come every two weeks and I keep nails beautiful. Gel refill normally $30 but for you, $25.'

cindi did understand that she wasn't the only doll in town to be given such a card, yet she also realized that in the eyes of this couple, she had passed the test. She had earned her long nails because she had shown she could look after them and 'be careful' as she had been told when they had finally agreed to give cindi a new, longer set on the previous visit. Praise. cindi needed that.

She had earned the praise, just as she had earned the vacation. It all comes down to behaviour and choices, cindi realized. cindi simply needs to choose carefully.

The Devil

"This pain is not to make you sad, remember. Thats what people go on missing. This pain is just to make you more alert–because people become alert only when the arrow goes deep into their heart and wounds them."

Osho

 For all the light and love I've written about for years, there are days when I feel that some sorcerer has scourged my soul such that I am eternally damned to desire to dance with sadistic malevolence.

I might enjoy a movie, get sustenance in sustaining friends and family around my table, take pleasure in a walk through the well-established gardens of the east side, but I am only completely alive when I can tango with a well coiffed vampire, all the time wondering if tonight is the night when he might display his fangs.

To live on the edge, to face my fears, to walk into the arena and offer myself up, this is what thrills me. To be removed from the arena pulsates with pornicious provocation. The devil knows this. The devil uses this against me. The curse that plagues me demands challenge and defies easy. The visitation cannot be undone.

My sighs during the day that disclose the inner need for sadistic stimulation of my spirit are only put to rest when this masochist is in mutual motion with her oppressor.

I want dastardly. I want demanding. I want the devil.

The arrow is securely lodged. I surrender.

David

I received some very sad news this morning that my dear friend David from A View from the Top has passed away.

David approached me not long after I began to write in this journal some years ago now and we very quickly became firm friends. Although we were writing in cyberspace from opposite ends of the power exchange dynamic it was my friendship that David sought. A loyal and constant friend through the years he was a very steadying influence in my life, always willing to listen to me.

David was prepared to disclose himself to me from the outset. He had complete trust and faith in me as his friend. I knew his real name, where he worked, the circumstances of his private life, the details of his life. More than that, he offered me the workings of his heart and I shared with him his joys and his sorrows, his health status and some of his wide ranging interests. I have a particularly happy memory of commentating the Australian Grand Prix for him a few years ago when he was at work and was frustrated that he couldn't find the race on the Internet.

For a few years David worked the night shift a few days a week. It became a pattern of my life that I would open up the account at about 4 pm on a Sunday afternoon, and over the course of the afternoon and evening, the making of the dinner, the putting out of the garbage and the ironing of the next day's school clothing, we would share anything from the most mundane of daily events right up to in depth discussions about the meaning of life.
 
Within these discussions topics about dominance and submission would often come up and I remember one time that he chose to role play with me, him acting as my Dominant.

'You have chosen to make me responsible for your well being. So, why would you question my decision?' he asked me. The penny dropped.

He was always exceedingly kind to me, generous of his time and his counsel. Aware that I was technically useless I'd mention that I couldn't do something or other and he'd explain the 'how'of the matter in intricate detail, writing out step by step details.

'Thank you,' I'd say, 'I'll try it later.'
'Do it now while I am online to help you,' he would say, knowing that I'd probably never get to it on my own.

He was never rude or demanding but quietly asserted himself with me, guided me and steered me whilst all the time appearing not to be doing much at all. This was his way.

He once said this:

'I see my role as to keep you safe, like a ten pin bowling ball is contained between the bumpers on either side of the lane.'

No-one was more aware than David that I wrote when I was happy and I wrote when I was sad, and that my writing gyrated from one state to the other in its own constancy.

He had the patience of an angel with me, only occasionally losing his temper with me and revealing his true state of mind as to my explorations. David saw true value in a woman exploring her own needs in various capacities, but under a watchful eye.

'Are you done with this yet?' he'd asked me sometimes and I knew I had exasperated him. Then would come the one word 'Sorry'. He strongly believed that he should not interfere with my explorations but rather, like a beneficent father, indulge me, watching from on high.

Like all of us writing in this space David could be naughty. He once suggested that we open a journal together and that I write from the dominant perspective. He'd be the wise Uncle giving his nephew advice in the background from time to time as to how to dominate his love interest. That was an interesting time!

But, it was when I wrote a single post about Agnes, a pretty dark haired French girl from the country and newly arrived in Paris that he was truly inspired. Frederick spoke to him and he took great pleasure in constructing the story of Frederick's seduction of Agnes. The character of Frederick is David in so many ways; the consummate refined gentleman who quietly and gently expresses his dominant personality. I was delighted to be able to indulge him in this way.

In the past few years it became clear that David was slowing down and that his health was ailing. We grew to spend more time chatting about food or health remedies. The last email I have from him is about a dining venue in my home town that he thought I might enjoy and I was delighted to tell him that I could in fact walk to that establishment from my home. He put me onto adding a few spoonfuls of quinoa into my porridge in the mornings to get some protein, and I never let him live down the day that he ate a whole bag of marshmallows covered in chocolate. I'm sure he regretted sharing that little sin with me and would chide me to resist, or else!

No matter how difficult his health David maintained a strong desire to live and to make the best of his life. Always loyal to those he loved he kept his dominant desires in balance with the rest of his life and he encouraged me to do likewise. He never failed to ask about my husband and children, knowing them all by name. As time wore on his responses in chat became slower, his world smaller, but he never complained, always kept in good cheer and remained positive and hopeful.

Over the years I knew him a pattern emerged in our chats, wise words that would often stop me in my tracks and have me thinking over and over again, 'What a wise man is this!' I sometimes joked that I would gather all his little sayings and philosophies and write them up in a coffee table book. I said I would call it, 'David's Wise Words'.

He scoffed at the idea, of course, but I think a part of him knew that he was an observant man who had been around long enough to understand human nature. Perhaps in the throes of falling in love his judgment could be a little clouded, but he saw the world through clear eyes, knew what he could influence and what he could not. He was at peace with that. 

I will miss him. I miss him. It is so hard not to be able to tell him how much he meant to me. It is so hard not to be able to say 'goodbye'. His blog remains behind to remind us of a true gentleman in this space; an old-fashioned gentleman with impeccable manners and a strong sense of the fitness of things; a truly good man.

May you fly with the angels, dear David.

My love.
xx

Pleasure in the pain

It's the middle of final year exams here right now and there's plenty of serious study going on and also some light relief; a sort of pain/pleasure mix. We've an interesting and bizarre system here where a cohort's score can raise your score up or bring it down. This is not well understood by most students who hold onto material themselves, loathe to share their good ideas.

My son knows better. His score was reduced for a final year creative subject he took last year because his cohort didn't do well in the exam, so this year he determined that the Drama class understood this and he initiated Skype chats where they shared answers and ideas. This is great because it would be too sad for this exceptionally talented team of performers to be let down in their scores by an average examination experience. I could hear conversations taking place in his bedroom all afternoon and night as they co-operatively worked together. They've planned lunch out afterwards and I'd like to think that in some capacity they will always be friends.

With all this in place I took my son over to school just now and we hugged in our ritualistic way and I said, as I always do, 'May the force be with you'. This is my 'good luck' message to all my children when they have some mountain to climb. However, on returning home I realized he had left his water bottle, another ritual of his, to fill up his clear water bottle just before he heads off for an examination. I checked the time and decided that if I ran fast I could make it to him before they were called in.

Past the eucalytus trees I ran, the freshly mowed oval where he had played countless soccer games, the bicylce stands, the Science building, the swimming pool and around to the gymnasium where I saw boys standing around chatting. Yes! There was some chance I had made it in time. Suddenly, I saw my son's head bob up from where he had been sitting on the grass and it was clear he was confused to see me. I held up the water bottle. 'Ah, you came all the way back! Thank you'. 'Good luck,' I said to him and those gathered, and as I was running away I heard someone say, 'Your mum is awesome' and then my son said, 'She makes me a hot breakfast every morning.' Ya see! They do care about these things.

As he was eating said breakfast this morning, he turned to me and said, 'Mum, you'll like this' and he played me an audio he had saved on his phone; a conversation between two boys that had taken place in their respective homes yesterday. It was two of his mates in conversation about Maths Methods. Clearly, one was better at the subject than the other and rather than two mates in conversation, one was performing the role of teacher and one was the student, in the sense that he understood his inferior capabilities in this subject.

'So, the answer is 9y.'
'Oh, f*ck me. How could it be 9y?'
'Because x has to be a less than y if you are derivating the number.' (I'm making this up a bit. It was gobbledy gook to me, actually)
'No, that can't be. Isn't y equal to 6?'
'No. x must be less.'
'What a mother f**ker of a subject this is! I'm burning my books the minute the examination is over. I am going to take great delight in burning all this crap.'
(Snickers heard)
'I don't understand how you can burn all your work.'
'Oh, you are going to burn your books too. Don't tell me you're too good to burn your books. This subject has caused me so much pain. This shit is going to burn in hell.'
(lots more snickers)
'Moving onto question 9f...'

This is life. There is always someone better at something than us, somebody who will teach us something we don't know; somebody who has to take the lead; somebody who has to get the ball rolling.

I adore the fact that these boys pool their resources and push everybody up with them, but the fact remains that only one boy will dux the grade. It's about PBs really and having some fun in amongst all the angst.

Last weekend I sat next to a girl who I knew well at school. I haven't seen her for nearly 40 years and it was fun to catch up on her life (Well, career really. It was all about her career.)I always knew she was smarter than me and she went on to become an academic, and I think she makes a difference to the world too, in her own way. She was well above me in terms of results, but I was smart enough to go to the same university as her and in the first year of university I'd try to get her to help me with my Linguistics, which was sometimes gobbledygook to me. My brain processes creative aspects of life better than it does mathematics or linguistics, as I found it. But, she had no real interest in helping me, I soon discovered, and I find myself hoping that these days she is more generous towards her PhD students. Let's hope she was able to make that change.

We are who we are, need what we need, want what we want. We can strive to be anything our hearts can dream but there are limits to this. We can only play with the cards we are dealt; be who we are; find our own way to shine. Peace comes when we can find the generosity within ourselves to share ourselves and when we can understand and accept ourselves; know our place in this big, wide world, because we all have a place.

Arousal from spanking

Relationships adapt, change and evolve over time. My feelings about being spanked have evolved as well and that bothers me a bit. Spanking is where it all started for me. As a little girl I'd come across a disciplinary scene in a novel and I would stop breathing, dog ear the page and return to it endlessly; play it out in my mind when I was alone in my bed and the lights were out.

Spanking is how I engaged my husband in a power exchange with me. We tried a number of different techniques and I have vivid memories of some of them. He was aroused by spanking from the outset but I think he was also aroused by the happy girl that came about after the spanking. He'd often push me far beyond where I wanted to go and I'd hang onto various little phrases that my mentor used. 'It will be over soon', I'd repeat to myself and this seemed to allow me to bunker down into the spanking. Sucking and biting a ball gag or cock gag helped a great deal and being restrained was often the perfect scenario for me, allowing me to take more than I normally could and to experience that intense sense of 'letting go' and catharsis.

For some time we had a 'black book' and he wrote down any sort of behaviour of mine over the week that he didn't appreciate. I remember saying something cheeky during one disciplinary spanking and he said immediately 'five more whacks'. It was a crop he'd been using and the five fast whacks delivered produced five angry weals which instinctively had me deciding to move away. 'Did I give you permission to move?' he barked. It stopped me in my tracks and I regained my position,  not wanting any more, a little frightened to disobey, flustered but aroused by it all too, of course.

Since the break of those sorts of situations and scenarios I'm having trouble returning to the sorts of games that he wants to now play. I think he feels that I need to be spanked for my own good and for the sake of us, but something holds me back. I give myself messages to 'let go' and just accept but there is a real rebellion going on in my head.

I wonder about this rebellion. Am I sub-consciously thinking, 'You've been absent for a long time. What makes you think you can just return when it suits you?' Physically, I am not enjoying it. There is more annoyance in the smacks or the sting of the paddle, a rising of umbrage, and I can't settle into it. He hates that I can't settle into it and he tends to stop, upset with me. Maybe, some would say, he should just keep going and get it over with, but he's reluctant to cause any undue harm to my state of mind.

He's suggested we return to the 'black book' and whilst I am not someone who enjoys having my little failings documented and dealt with, maybe that's best, at least for now. It's not that I am not aroused by the thoughts of spankings, or talking about them and so on. Perhaps I don't care for the fact that he wants to make them the so called 'sexually arousing spanking', as in spank a bit and rub a bit and touch a bit. That's just not working at the moment for me.

Maybe, I have gone so far down the 'rules' path this year that the need is there to go further. I've been introduced to rules and corrected for breaking them enough times that this sort of 'person of authority' in my life who can dictate the rules for me seems perfectly natural now. Maybe he's right about the 'black book' but maybe rather than him decide arbitrarily that I did something he doesn't care for, it should be a fairly fair system where the rules are determined in advance. If 'no talking back' is a rule, then fine, I'll embrace the rule, eventually.

It's all rather new and different and I can't quite get a handle on my own thinking about it all. It's like there has a been a bit of loosening of the wires of my brain and my thinking is altering, and what arouses me is altering. It's the tighter grip that my brain is processing as arousing rather than the physical sensation of being spanked. It's as if that is now something that isn't so much foreplay for me but something delivered for other reasons. There has been arousal in both methods but somehow the arousal is the end result of this sort of power over me in my life now, something more serious and sophisticated perhaps...

Correction

I can't help but notice that the recent post entitled Being Corrected has been read by a considerably larger number of people than usually read my posts. My little journal is for a select audience on the whole. At first, I thought it related to the fact that people might be curious as to what I was writing about these days, but each day the tally for that particular post climbs higher and I am forced to conclude that the issue of being corrected in a power exchange is of particular interest to people. So let's explore that some more.

For me, there's a fun side to correction and a very serious side at the same time. It was during the process of wanting to understand more about the process of correction and aftercare of a scene, or a longer experience, that I came across this piece of excellent writing about after care. It was fascinating to read about the situation where a woman might orgasm during rape and that this does not represent consent in any way. Clarisse Thorn and links to other women writers on the subject from her blog can give much more insight to this issue than I can, so I won't say any more about that, except to say that the body can definitely defy the brain. We can be turned on by issues that upset us or challenge us or even issues or experiences that we hate.

I've written recently about serious struggle in terms of being corrected and I don't think being corrected is ever going to be a 'piece of cake' for me. (pun intended, because is a banned substance) It doesn't strike me as being an easy thing to have someone insist that the way you've done things in the past won't be how you'll be doing them from now on. If you take food as an example, it's no small thing to train someone (be they dietitian, personal trainer, doctor or dominant) to stop eating sugar, or to eat it very rarely and only in small quantities. It isn't easy being told that you can either have a slice of cake on your birthday or something you've been wanting for quite some time. There's a choice, but there are still very strict limits imposed. Basically, at the end of the day, you can't have any cake on your birthday, is the way that game plays out.

Such situations and corrections that relate to daily regimin and rules can be challenging and even quite anger inducing. As I know dominance it's all about getting compliance which is another way of saying that it's all about achieving goals. One way or the other, goals will be achieved. It's not something that I choose to write about in detail in the journal but nasty deeds were done and clever tricks were devised to ensure my compliance on this matter (seriously limited sugar intake) and that resulted in a week where I experienced a gamut of emotions from arousal to extreme anger. Not only was I experiencing distress such that old habits were being dumped (and I choose that word with intention) but it was clear that this was arousing to both parties. I was mystified at my reaction, deep arousal at the same time as I was furious, but there it was and it could not be denied.

I think some of us can handle our kink with scenes and go about our lives until the next scene, and some of us want something more consistent than that. I've found that I enjoy and appreciate a more consistent sort of control exerted over me and this can be achieved in several ways; in some ways, the more the better.

I've been negotiating with my husband a stronger, tighter relationship. We've nearly at the end of one stage of our lives and onto another where we have more flexibility and freedom to pursue our own relationship. I have not enjoyed his absence in my personal life. It has been close to unbearable and I have expressed my needs.

It was interesting and hopeful for me to realize in our discussion that he is not entirely short of ideas at all. Something came up about my wardrobe. I think he may have said, 'Do I interfere with your purchases?' and I said, 'Well, I'd like you to be more involved, actually. I'd like you to notice things. I like it when you give me your input or choose something yourself.' And, he said, without drawing breath, 'Well, if that's what you want, you can call me and ask permission before you make a purchase. How do you like that?' It stopped me in my tracks. Did I want that? 'Or,' I responded, 'I could keep the ticket on things and I could show you a purchase and if you didn't like it, I could take it back.' There it was again, that sense of 'I like this/I don't like this'. I adore to be controlled but my instincts tell me to hold onto a bit of control too.

We have this situation, my Internet teacher and I, where, from time to time, it comes up in conversation as to whether he's too strict. If I am a bit 'sixs and sevens' he might ask if he is too strict, and I finally got up the nerve recently to type back that yes, sometimes he was. That's the part of me that wants to hold onto some control because in fact, he's not too strict at all. He's firm, yes. But, where the f**k would we be if he wasn't? If I could guarantee that I know what is good for me all the time, then he's too strict, but alas, I can't guarantee it at all.

As previously noted, after this  week long, dramatic, exhausting 'correction' I found myself exploring aftercare. Shouldn't I be getting something more than a pat on the head? Hour by hour I came to see that I was simply trying to control the 'after the correction' experience too. I had completed the correction, got some praise for it and now it was over. Oh. So, that's the way corrections go. No. Big. Deal. Part of the deal.

Let's be clear here. I long for a sense of containment and connection. Nothing brings more joy and bliss into my life than to feel the sort of emotional response where I feel love and respect for someone such that my whole body and soul resonates with the thrill of being alive and living this life. In order to achieve it I need to 'let go' and just let the control wash over me - my mind, my body, my whole life. Correction is part of the deal. It's arousing, it's confronting. It's an essential part of what I want.

Leaders

Shakespeare had that extraordinary ability to understand men - their virtues and their vices - and he didn't shy away from the Carnivalesque world. In his famous character of Falstaff we have an entry point into that fantastical world where responsibility has no place. The moment where Hal finally rejects him is said by some critics to be the saddest moment in theatrical history. Yet, he has been given so many chances, had so many warnings of what was to come if he did not reform, that we understand, and Falstaff and Hal themselves understand, that his banishment is written in the stars.

Of course, it his forbearance of Falstaff, even to the point where Falstaff is useless in battle, a total hindrance in fact, that we cannot ignore. Prince Hal offers him the honour of saying that it was he that killed Hotspur and saved the King,  reminding the audience that chivalry is not dead.

For my part, if a lie may do thee grace
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have 

This is a successful King in the making. Courageous and strategic, with a robust understanding of the Machiavellian creed, yet not so desiring of honour that he cannot aid his friend, he has all the necessary qualities to lead.

I suppose there is something steadfast about Hotspur some might find attractive. His noble pursuit of honour at the behest of all other aspects of life has something solid about it. We know where we stand. He'll be valiant in battle. He'll do all he can. Yet, his rejection of song, of his wife's troubles, I don't think we can forgive him that; that ruthless bloody mindedness to see life only through his own eyes; to not have some kind words for Kate before his departure. We don't take kindly to that, nor should we.

It never ceases to amaze me that a man who wrote so long ago had such insight into human nature that what he wrote about then still applies today. We cannot accept Falstaff's rejection of the pursuit of honour such that we can applaud cowards and self-interested men, but nor can we put ourselves behind men like Hotspur who would lead us onto the battlefield without forethought and an all encompassing understanding of what it is to live.

Those of us with a submissive leaning recognize innately that a good leader must possess level-headedness, and a sense of honour that encompasses justice and chivalry; an understanding of the multi-dimensional concept of the word 'honour' (not to seek it for its own sake), and even some understanding of the Carnivalesque world. If they wish to be much loved and admired, well then, of course, they must be capable of loving abundantly. Innately, this is well understood whatever the era.

Masochism

If I were to expose my mind to a psychologist it would become obvious very quickly that he or she was seating opposite a masochist. I've been reluctant to make that admission, even to myself, but I have reached a point where there is no point in denying it any further.

It was clear years ago that I was aroused by being told what to do and by having someone in control of me in various ways. Yet, I didn't feel that the title of 'masochist' applied, since I didn't need or particularly want, a great deal of pain.

I did notice this: that if the control was intense and certain I could take a lot more sensation than if I felt I could manipulate a situation. This is still the case. Even in the mindset of 'toy' I can still push and test. I seem to need to know that if I push against the wall it won't cave in on me; that the wall is solid and I can't knock it down.

This is what has often gone awry with my husband and me. He sees a bit of anger and distress and figures that I have had enough or he has done the wrong thing. On the contrary, whatever distress or anger I am experiencing will soon blow over if he can hold his nerve, not easy sometimes, I am sure, but there it is.

I like the control to be such that I cannot influence or effect it. Of course, situations will call for some adjustment or negotiation at times but I need to know that there is no Plan B, simply a slight modification of Plan A on occasion and only if absolutely necessary.

It hasn't always been this way. This situation has evolved as I have become more comfortable and certain in my role. My submission is deeply affected by the certainty and intensity of the control. Some people say that masochists really want to control. I don't buy that but I do recognize that I am capable of exerting control (or giving it a go) if I don't feel there is enough control being exerted over me or if it feels that there is, at that moment, too much. I push at the wall trying to get it to convince me that I am wasting my time. I don't want to control. I want to be certain that the control over me is alive and well.

These days my masochism is well expressed and that relates to the level of sadism being exerted. I'm still a little gobsmacked to type that sadism in various guises is not the least off putting to me (even though it can initially make me very angry and rebellious). That is to say, having recognized that I appreciate sadistic games I am in no position to complain about the sadist's glee when I experience pain or discomfort. This exchange of energy, this reinforcement of position and place, is comforting, reassuring and arousing.

If the mind of the masochist is engaged there are countless ways one can control her. It's the creativity of the sadist that matters here. The meting out of pain and control works in any number of ways so long as roles have been ascribed and adhered to. It's these constant reminders of place and status that are so fulfilling to both players. It may take some time to reach this place and it's important, I believe, not to allow gains garnered to slide back to previous levels. What's best for both is when the relationship can evolve and spread its wings over time. When the dynamic is cemented that's when the explorations can really start to happen.

My point is that I need to know my place and to be held accountable for maintaining that place. It's clear even to me that this is how I feel safe and secure. As the masochist and 'bottom' I need to feel sure that the sadist/Top is comfortable and secure in his place, ready, willing and able to guide me.  To my mind the Dominant/Top/sadist is responsible for creating the road map for the journey whilst the submissive/bottom/masochist is responsible for following the directions given to her to take her to interesting places that will complete her and expand her horizons.

I can see that it is a tough situation for someone who isn't sure of the extent of another's person submissive's stance or her desire for masochism. She probably isn't sure herself how far she can go or what she is capable of, or wants. I can only emphasize once again that she will go a very long way in the journey if she feels that the leadership is there - strong, certain, unfailingly reliable and dependable. We all have our off days but I know what it is like to flap in the breeze and it's not a good  look and to be avoided at all costs.

Dirty minds

I confess. I do enjoy my Tumblr account very much and I do watch the odd little clip that gives me even more insight into a photograph such as the one above. It was in a documentary about making porn where I watched a girl in the same testing position as the girl here. Her mouth wasn't gagged and she was calling out phrases, "oh, my poor little hole, my poor little hole". Maybe she had rehearsed the line, but the words and sounds she emitted sounded authentic, the sort of whimpers and cries and pleas that any girl in a similar situation is likely to produce! Finally she said with desperation evident in her voice, "I can't take any more, I can't take any more...", but on the camera rolled, the producers waiting to see, I think, if she calmed down a little, could take a little more, pushing and prodding her mind as well as her ass.

It's an interesting thing to consider, arousal and libido and its relationship to the power of suggestion. I lived 50+ years before I ever saw such a evil contraption and yet the moment I saw it my mind was turned 'on'. That's probably because I was ready to see it. I had explored power exchange enough whereby the notion of the body of a 'toy' being trained in various ways was acceptable to me, to the point where it was arousing to my mind to observe.

In fact, I lived 50+ years before I knew very much about the range of sexual activities at all. My own rather perverse mind had gone as far as it could go without training or someone in my life actually wanting and needing me to go much further in my explorations. When I was introduced to various new ideas, some were embraced immediately and others took time to cement themselves in my mind. It's very far from a situation where I was comfortable with more extreme thoughts overnight. It was a step by step process. Objectification, humiliation play and the owning of 'property' is not suited to those in a hurry. My point is that if you plan to train a girl (or bottom) it's best to have a good supply of patience and to accept that it may be two steps forward and one step back for quite some time. There is quite a lot to take on here.

I think energy for life comes in all sorts of guises. If one puts a great deal of energy into, say, painting or writing or trading markets or model car collecting, there may not be quite as much available sexual energy in that person. The time and effort they put into those other endeavors may be compensation for, or an alternative to, the energy they might have put into exploring sex and the body. Neither is the right or wrong way to live, but to have a robust sexual life, it takes two people who share an interest in sexual exploration and challenge. To have a robust and fulfilling power dynamic it takes consistent effort on both sides.

Over time, the sexual act can become repetitive and relationships can morph into something other than what began as the union of two young libidinous souls. For some people they move on, putting their pent up energies into other pursuits (bridge, tennis, sports cars, what have you...) whilst in other cases, one or both of the members of the union decide to ram it up a bit, to try new activities, new games, and even to do a little 'mind fucking'.

Although to many people the above image seems severe and off-putting, mean and nasty stuff, to other people, such as women like me who like to imagine being put in this situation, as challenging as it is on various levels (!), it's an incredible turn on. What I have come to understand is that sometimes a woman needs to say "oh, that's gross and offensive and I hate it" before she can say one day later, or months later in time, "okay, the truth is that that is a real turn on, but I think I'm not meant to say that or think that..." It takes time and patience, just quietly and consistently penetrating a woman's mind before she'll show you just how dirty it really is.

And the feeling is good

I can view a photograph such as the one above and dwell on it extensively. I might sit and watch this image a dozen or more times, and then a day later return to it and watch it all over again. I might masturbate to the image or simply find myself thinking about it, and the extended scenarios that are conjured relating to it, whilst I am driving in the car or sitting in the audience waiting for a show to commence.

These moments can derail me. They tend to arrest my desires to be productive and I often find I have to write about it so that I can put some sort of finality to the compulsive thinking about it. I write this now in the hope that it may act as some sort of 'orgasm' allowing me to get productive fast, as is necessary.

Although we often do what we must, when we have our way we do what we want or what brings us pleasure. I think that when I see an image such as this it floods my brain with positive feelings and energy. My mind remembers the times when my husband has done something vaguely similar and I process once again the enormous sense of enrichment I felt after one of these sessions. It lifts my spirits and makes me feel whole and complete. I am immediately elevated.

I took a personality test again just before which confirmed that I am a INFP personality, which basically means that I express myself better in writing than I do in oral language and that I tend to process the world according to how I feel rather than what is logical.

It's true. I am in the 2% or so of the population that seems to be overly aware of how they feel and those feelings matter a great deal to them. I look to be happy and content with my life in my own unique way. I seek out those people who allow me to feel complete and deeply comfortable in my own skin. Inclined to dream my way through life at every possible opportunity I am well positioned to have a boss in my life who is more logical and practical; stern but fun loving; appreciative of the positive and negative aspects of my nature that is wholly ingrained.

It is said that the INFP personality is easily misunderstood. I think we types, as introverted and dreamy as we tend to be, do wonderfully well under the control of someone else if we feel understood and appreciated. Yes, we don't always function terribly well on our own, but some people don't mind that about us. Our child-like enthusiasm is attractive to some people. When that is tapped into and when we can shine in this way, I think that's when you see the best of us.

On one level I take power exchange extremely seriously. It's so much more than a game. Yet, at the same time it's the most delicious game that was ever invented. To accept the dominance that is exerted in this photograph and to provide service in that way completes my needs for taking the dynamic seriously at the same time as it provides satiation for my need for having a lot of fun.

I adore the exchange of energy. I adore the way this sort of play makes me feel. I am always chasing those feel-good moments and if I can't get them in my day to day life I'll happily search them out in my mind.  To feel adoration for someone is about as happy as I can possibly be and I adore to be led.

Compliance: the desired outcome

Although my husband is the boss of me (I'm smiling thinking of kids saying to someone that tells them what to do, "you're not the best of me!!") he and I, like so many married couples, don't partake in any sort of highly structured disciplinary relationship. We've been there, and it was incredibly hot and sexy, but I think he decided that for people living their entire adult lives together we could only take it so far. He's long held the view that there is an independent streak within me and he doesn't want to mess with it.

I think as well that a formal disciplinary aspect to the relationship goes against the natural flow of 'us' and what he feels comfortable doing and desires doing. He is fully engaged with his business life. I think for him it sounds like more work. I'm not exactly sure. I only know that whilst he enjoys his status on the top of the pile, isn't shy about letting me know when he's not happy with what I do or say, and does occasionally enjoy 'correcting' me with an implement in a semi-serious way, he's not into discipline with me, if that makes sense.

As long as there is no skin off his nose, and as long as he feels he is getting the attention, love and devotion that he deserves he's not against me engaging in a friendship conducted safely and respectfully, in a non-threatening way, where it is understood that I'm the 'student' and the other person is the 'teacher', with all the sense of authority that the word 'teacher' entails. Teachers, do sometimes, alas, find themselves in a situation where they must punish.

A few years ago a few extra kilos crept on my body in a menopausal way, out of the blue. I didn't care for it and kidded myself that I was doing something about it. I lost a few kilos and settled into a groove where the last four kilos to lose would eventually make their way off my body, somehow. I'd invariably start the day talking to myself, 'This weight has to come off!' only to find myself doing the same bad things, grabbing a piece of chocolate with my tea at night or a cookie with my coffee when I visited the Market, that sort of thing that isn't all that bad but that really doesn't allow for weight loss.

About a month ago now, I mentioned to my 'teacher' that today I was starting a new regimen of eating because I wanted to lose weight. He asked how much I wanted to lose and I said '4 kilos' which is about 10 pounds. I truly didn't expect him to bite at this. He never has before in any real way and I was surprised when he said that he could help me with this. It was a lovely favour I thought and I was pleased, very pleased; grateful.

We began the business of me sending a daily food journal and he made corrections, all sensible and necessary. I needed to include some protein with my meals, so, for example, I could have some almonds with my oatmeal in the morning. He banned cake more or less for good. Well, he said 'a month' but do I think that next month I can have cake? No. This has worked wonderfully well. I absolutely never look at, drool over or consider eating cake now. It's banned. My submissive mind gets that word.

He made other sensible suggestions - I don't eat the yolk of eggs at the moment and I do drink considerably more water, try to incorporate more fruit, vegetables and beans into my diet.

At first I was going about my usual habits, having a treat after dinner. Of course, that's not going to work when you need to limit calories and I was told rather quickly that I could have 2 sweet things a week. This was my 'sweets allowance'. More corrections were made - the size of a 'sweet' established as being minuscule in comparison to what I thought of as a reasonable portion. One punishment was meted out and I imagine he hoped that that would be the end of the matter and I'd fall into line.

However, as much as I knew the rules I was also dealing with a sugar withdrawal. I still, on some days, yearned for a lolly (piece of candy) or a piece of dark chocolate. One week I gobbled up my two sweets in less than a minute and that's not good. I was honest about this and he called it 'brave'. I had another week to go before I could eat something sugary, he reminded me.

However, one day I was at the supermarket and impulsively, like a naughty little schoolgirl, I snatched a bag of hard lollies from the shelf and chucked them into my shopping basket. Back home, they whispered to me, 'Just one. One can't hurt' and I had one and that led to two. When I was a school girl my mother sometimes would have waiting for me after school a fresh batch of cupcakes newly iced and I'd have one and then another. 'I'll stop at four, I'd say in my weakest moments. Definitely no more than four!' This is what happened to me with that evil bag of lollies. I ate four.

As I was writing up my food journal I was aware of last week's consequence; not that it was all that terrible but I had very recently been in trouble and didn't want to be in trouble again. If I said 'two', and as I understood the rules then, that would be 1 sweet treat. I already had used up the other one, the week was still ahead of me with no more treats, but I wouldn't be in trouble. If I wrote that I had eaten 4, I knew I'd be in lots of trouble. I wrote that I had eaten 2 of the blasted things, still acting like that schoolgirl who avoids being trouble at all costs.

No sooner had I sent off the email than I got an 'oh deeeeer' email back, which sounds tame but isn't in reality. Apparently, 1 hard piece of candy (it's less than an inch long and half an inch in diameter wrapped in its own little package) equalled one treat. Hence, I'd gone over my sweet rations again. It would be dealt with 'later' he said.

With time to think about this the guilt set in and the next time we chatted I fessed up. I honestly think (well, I know) that I expected to be let away with this. I was being coy, cute. Didn't you let sweet coy, cute little girls away with things? It was a few lollies, no big deal.

I was very, very mistaken. Not only had I gone over the limit two weeks in a row but I'd lied to him about it. I started to get that sick feeling in my stomach when I have to wait to read what he thinks about it all  and I tried to defend and explain myself.

'Keep digging...' came his reply. I suddenly remembered what my husband had told me. 'When you are in a hole, stop digging', but it was much too late.

He didn't yell or scream. Well, you can't actually yell or scream in chat but you can metaphorically and he didn't do that. It was more along the lines of a teacher being very, very disappointed in you. Then, he issued the punishment.

In some ways people don't change or not without a lot of effort, and I hadn't changed in my feelings about being truly punished. I hate to do the wrong thing really and I hate punishment for that reason. I had brought this on myself, had nobody to blame but myself, had given him no choice, but it still felt vile.

For several days I was on my own. I had to make my own choices. There wasn't a minute of that time that I didn't feel punished, sometimes assuring myself that I had earned it and had to suck it up, sometimes feeling hardly done by. It was hard on me, as it was meant to be. There were a few other complicating factors going on over that period of time that pushed me around too, but let's keep this simple.

When we talked again I was tentative. Perhaps it is not unlike a person within a power exchange who gets a good hiding as a punishment and the time period after that is awkward as one repairs one's dignity, as one truly takes in that one person is the authority figure and one person has the right to, and will if necessary, discipline the other.

'Did I enjoy my time away from him?' he wanted to know. This was like a red rag to a bull, I thought. Part of me wanted to laugh but the other part that was taking myself seriously wasn't ready to take it lightly. There was a comment about my being on 'pins and needles' and whilst it was absolutely true, I didn't want to admit that the punishment had got under my skin.

There was a discussion about him being 'sooooo strict' and then that followed with a back and forth as to whether he was 'tooo strict'. I refused to answer, unlike me. I know better. He insisted I did, I continued to play for time, until I'd got his back up. 'Time's up' he typed and left. Now I was really mad! I sent an email which pretty clearly showed that I had unresolved issues.

The next day we chatted. He asked me a question and then immediately typed 'Don't answer that' and then 'Here's the situation'. He typed out that I had disoebyed the rules, lied, made serious errors of judgment and that I got punished for it. What possible issue could I have? I offered that he had made fun of me. 'Mountain meet mole hill' he typed, and he was right. Whilst he had the good grace not to say it, I was having a problem taking my well deserved punishment. I simply wasn't used to being told that I couldn't do something and having disobeyed and lied, punished. I see this all very clearly now. I had to take that final step of accepting that I wasn't in control, that rules had been laid down and that failure to follow them and fibbing about any said lack of failure would incur swift retribution.

I haven't touched a lolly since. It seems sensible for me to treat them the same way I do cake. Instead, twice a week, at say, three day intervals, I'll allow myself one block of 70+ dark chocolate as a treat. That's it. He's quite right. Nothing was going to happen weight loss wise until I rid myself of that sweet tooth and listened to him. The end justifies the means. The only desired outcome: compliance. I respect that. I am learning.

Serious struggle

I can be impulsive. I'm being impulsive now. Writing in this blog is a very public thing to do. God knows where readers come from but they are fast congregating and I'm not silly, I know this blog will be read by the powers that be. My words will be dissected and probably work against me.

You see, in a very tangible and real way, I'm deeply questioning my choices. I'm all grown up. Hell, my four children are all grown up. Although I do indeed have fantasies that put me under the auspices of strict, rigid people (bastards and bitches really, let's be clear) I find myself in a situation where I must tackle these notions of control and compliance with which I have been presented. Don't I need to stop feeding these thoughts that go in a loop, constantly dragging me back into a world that can leave me really quite distraught and unable to function well, like now?

Without doubt, when it is good, it is very good. When all is going well I'm happy, but then something goes wrong, the strict (sadistic) discipline kicks in and I find myself asking, 'What are you doing? You know how debilitating this is for you. Isn't it time to let it go?'

I can hear your mind ticking over already. What has got into her? What has precipitated these feelings? I ask the same question myself. I know the answer but it is painful to share, to admit it even to myself.

I feel disrespected. I feel infantalised. I feel so profoundly uncomfortable with what has gone down in the past several days that I find myself needing to run in the opposite direction. There's a rigidity imposed and a conformity expected that I can't abide. I'm too old to be treated this way, possibly not 'doll' material after all if this sort of treatment is necessary. Bottom line, I'm just deeply, deeply upset and know that I am expected to swallow it. Can't.

I don't know whether to call it 'self respect' or 'sense of self' or 'pride' or 'ego'  but there's a hurt here that isn't likely to heal by just papering it over this time. If this sort of dominance is considered necessary (= anything goes to ensure complete compliance) I may have travelled as far into the world of someone else controlling me as it is possible for this woman to go.

Being corrected

After all this time, I still can't quite believe that I'm the sort of person that needs a boss. The evidence is indisputable, the behaviours so instinctual, and yet, it sometimes feels unbelievable to me, like a dream, like I'm talking about somebody else.

I read just before a quote on tumblr: 'The grip may be loose, but it is there, and it is a constant.' It's a very nice sentiment but it doesn't serve me that well. I once believed that it is entirely enough, maybe even too much, but it's not, for me. I do best with rules, even if I'm not always sure that I like the rules.

The truth is that I am indeed the sort of person that does well, and struggles, with tighter control than that. Erotically, psychologically, tight control is enticing. Egoistically, this same tight control that seems to be a very good fit, confounds me, because I am not, and never was, especially comfortable with the notion of correction. Oh sure, correction can be arousing but it is also deeply challenging. There's that distinct part of my brain that wants to say, 'Just who do you think you are?!'

For several days I've asked myself 'Why?' Why is it that I am so profoundly challenged by being corrected, really brought to task for something? I can only answer that I don't like making mistakes. I don't like being called on my mistakes. My sense of self demands that I do things well, but flaws, human flaws that we all have, weaknesses and limitations, prevent me from always achieving my best. This seems reasonable to me but quite unreasonable, of course, to a boss. He wants more.

Sometimes, I simply don't do my best. Sometimes, I wing it. Sometimes, I grab that little treat, even if I am not entitled to it. Or, I dilly dally. Or, I don't give a task the importance it (or someone else thinks it) deserves. To put it simply, I please myself, which is not conducive to having a boss.

I wrestle with this. I know I want a boss, but a boss corrects, which means I have to 'pull my head out of my ass' long enought to recognize that what I do, or don't do, is the problem. If I want a boss, and  I do, I have to conform, do things his way, and not my own.

This is all commonsense, BDSM 101. Still, it's fun to plant bombs under his chair, in my mind. I'm not the only one doing that, right?